TTAR
by Ray Marie
Summary: To Trust a River: A story of lies, lust, love, deception, mystery, death, and ultimately trust. Please review, I worked hard on this. It's chapter four, but if you'd like more, I can add to it.


Chapter Four: The Day We Were Free

"She has hope and an imagination that hurts her

She wants bad struggles and happy endings

She gets happy struggles and bad endings.

She wants her fairy tale with his nerd rock soundtrack . . ."

-Diana Metzer, "Hey Rock Star."

            Had it been any other day, Draco might've been happier, or at the very least more decent toward others. But with his recent "revelation" from home, his scowl had only worsened. And now, in everything he did, there was a certain awareness of what was to come and an awareness of an impending punishment if he did not do his duty. Lucius made sure he knew that.

            Pansy, who had been staring down at her book, almost ignoring Draco's presence in the Common Room, looked up at him as he crossed the room toward the door. Draco locked his eyes forward, doing his best to ignore her, but Pansy wouldn't have it.

            She cleared her throat loudly. When Draco did nothing, she cleared it again; this time Pansy was loud and deliberate about it, desperately seeking his attention. He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Choking, Parkinson?" he asked, "Need a drink?"

            "Why?" Pansy smirked. "Are you offering to take me out for one?"

            Draco turned to look at her. "Hardly."

            There was silence for a moment as Pansy pushed herself up and out of her place on the black leather couch in front of the fire. The flames flickered, casting odd shadows off the curves of her face. Draco figured she would get snippy with him, but instead, she laughed. "You try to act so terrible, but you really aren't."

            "Is this coming from the same person who called me a bastard less than a week ago?"

            "An elephant never forgets," Pansy sneered, placing her hands on her hips.

            Bored, Draco looked away. "Was that supposed to hurt?"

            The blue-eyed Slytherin girl scowled. Her voice low, she spoke again, "Where are you going?"

            This time, Draco did turn away and start for the exit once more. He hadn't the time to stand around answering Pansy's pathetic questions. And he would not be interrogated by a silly, teenage girl. 

            "Draco!" she snapped loudly. "Can you stop being an arse-hole long enough to stay and talk to me for a moment?"

            He turned around again. "No."

            From behind him he could hear her walking in his direction. Her footsteps were heavy on the ground. Only a moment later she swooped upon him; Pansy touched his arm as she side-stepped the young man and turned to face him. _"Talk_ to me." There was silence. Pansy stared at him and continued. "I was talking to Blaise last night," the seventeen year old whispered. "She said her father had been owled less than a week ago. He and her older brother were called by Wormtail. Service starts now. And they also say that there are some . . . sleepers here at school-"

            Draco looked away and pushed by her. "Good _bye_, Pansy."

            "Why are you so angry about-"

            "If you don't get out of my way I'll move you myself."

            Pansy threw up her arms in frustration. "Goddamn it!" She stormed off. Draco watched her walk toward the corridor that led to the girls' dorms. She wanted him to chase her. But Draco wasn't the least bit interested; he turned away and left.

            Gripping his Nimbus in his hands and donning his Quidditch robes, he hurried for the Great Hall, eager to get outside and onto the Quidditch pitch. The castle seemed empty, it was so silent. Given, unless the student was a Slytherin, not many of Draco's peers ventured this far below the first level for no reason, there usually were a few people coming to the dungeons for Potions make up or something like it.

            Draco rounded the corner and hurried up a flight of stairs, passing a spare classroom used for study groups and the like. Just as he walked by, the heavy, wood door flew open, and out came Lisa Turpin, toting a book bag bulging with text books and other things borrowed from the library.

            She watched him take a few steps beyond her before falling into step beside him. His gait was longer than hers, and so Lisa had to walk faster to keep up. But just like him, she held her head high and walked as though she knew where she was going and she knew what she was going to do when she got there. At first, neither one of them spoke. To a certain degree, Draco wanted to be alone. But instead, he let her remain.

            Finally, she piped up. "What's wrong with you?" she asked as they went up a flight of stairs. His green Quidditch robes billowed out around him, and he flicked his head to get his silvery-blonde fringe out from over his eyes. 

            "Nothing," he snapped.

            She rolled her eyes and nudged him. He had to resist the urge to nudge her back. Lisa smirked, noticing his restraint, and he scowled, knowing he was letting his emotions show on his face. He was usually adept at concealing whatever it was he felt. 

            "Fine," she sighed after a few minutes. They came up a flight of stairs into the Entrance Hall. "You don't want to talk, understood." It wasn't a question, Draco noted, it was a statement.

            Draco remained silent.

            Lisa looked up at him, curious. Draco had prepared himself for a question. _"What's wrong?"_ he had been expecting, or _"What are you upset about? I've known your since you were five, Draco. I can tell when you're upset . . . ."_ It was one of her usual statements. So he was completely shocked when she simply said: "I know what you're doing, Draco." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

            "Goddamn it, Lisa, I don't want to get into this with you right now."

            "It's your shit."

            He leaned in close, looking into her dark eyes. "How are you sure it's mine? How are you so bloody sure it's a problem?"

            She shifted weight from one foot to the other. "Nothing's ever for sure. That's the only sure thing I know."__

            Raising his eyebrows, Draco stared down at his friend. Her serious, inquisitive face looked right back up at him, her dark brown eyes searching for some reaction. A reaction that they would never get.

            "What am I doing, Lisa?"

            She rolled her eyes. "Don't be angry and don't act like a bastard. Anything you're mad about is _your_ fault, you know."

            "Stay out of it, Turpin."

            She raised her eyebrows, staring up at him. Her thin hand grabbed his forearm, sensing that he might turn and hurry away at any given moment. "Honestly," she murmured. Then, "Where's Pansy?"

            He jerked back. "What?"

            "Pansy. She's usually following you around like a dog on a leash. Where's she now?"

            Frustrated, Draco pulled away, pulling his arm from Lisa's grasp. She backed away, still staring at him curiously, as though he was someone new and not an old friend.  He stared back; his glare was firm and cold, almost dangerous. "Go away," he muttered.

            "Draco, don't have a tantrum."

            "I _said_," he hissed into her ear as he walked by her, "leave me alone."

            Lisa took a deep breath, as though she was about to explain everything to him. Instead, he left. 

            Draco exited the castle. Even in the gray light that shone down, creeping through the dark clouds looming above, his pale skin looked even lighter. It was a cool, brisk autumn day, perfect for flying.

            With a sigh, he slung his broom over his shoulder, resting it against his neck as he walked in the direction of the pitch. The Quidditch Stadium wasn't reserved for the Slytherin team until later that night; the pitch should've been empty, but still, it was not.

            As he walked toward the pitch, in the distance he could begin to make out her figure. A small girl was soaring back and forth from one end of the pitch to the other, and from time to time would suddenly shoot downward, chasing an imaginary snitch. She had no ball to play with, nor was she working with anyone else. Instead, Ginny Weasley flew alone, deep in thought, seemingly ignoring everything going on around her.

            Draco smirked. For a moment, he nearly understood Pansy. She was very clear when she spoke to him. She wouldn't come second, she had said to him that day in the library. Not that he'd ever cared about what she said that day in the library, but he almost felt for her. Still, Draco would do what he had to do. He wouldn't give up everything he had just to bend to the will of some seventeen year old spoiled brat. After that, Pansy hadn't spoken to him. He supposed, in the end as a week had gone by, that they were 'broken up.' Not wanting to seem like the victim, Pansy told all the Slytherin girls that she had dumped him. It didn't matter to him though. He had the freedom to do what he needed to. Draco always got his way.

            He mounted his broom and rose into the air, flying toward the pitch. The wind picked up further, making his hair flap in his face. His robes billowed, and his broom edged sideways.

            After a moment, Ginny Weasley turned toward him, getting ready to feint. She dived down and pulled out of it quickly; the girl was no seeker. Finally, she registered Draco's presence. "Leave me be," came Ginny's harsh yell as he approached. 

            "It's not your pitch," he snapped. "I'll be damned if it is."

            The wind picked up again. Ginny stopped flying to face him completely, locks of red hair swirling around her face. She bit her lip and said nothing for a moment. Draco continued to smirk, still approaching. She glared at him and scowled. "What is it you want?"

            Draco flew still forward, nearing her. "The pitch. I've reserved it for Slytherin practice. And you don't happen to be on the Slytherin team. Nor the Gryffindor team, if I am correct."

            She turned pink and reversed slightly, suddenly intimidated as he moved closer. He was bigger than her, and with one quick movement he could have knocked her from her broom. Draco crossed his arms and waited for her to fly down to the ground and get out of his way. "Not until seven thirty," she said softly. Then louder: "I checked the practice schedule . . . you put Slytherin down for seven thirty. And it's only six something, if I am correct."

            "Was I not clear the first time I told you? Get off the pitch," snapped Draco.

            Ginny recovered. "I . . . I don't have to," she said in an equally harsh tone, gripping her broom tightly. "You can't make me."

            "Can't I?"

            "No." she told him firmly, sitting straight and pushing a few curls out of her face with her fingers. "You can't. So it's really not worth trying."

            Draco sat there fore a moment, silent. He scowled slightly and looked down at the grass. Then, the familiar cocky, slight smile playing on his lips again, he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm sure you don't want a detention."

            "You may be an older prefect, but you can't sc-"

            "Insubordination. I'm sure if I told Snape that you refused to cooperate when I needed to plan my teams strategy and practice for our next match he'd surely love to assign you bed pan clean up . . . or maybe he'd make you clean the Potion's dungeon. If you're lucky, you won't get stuck cleaning the toilets . . . ."

            "You selfish pri-"

            "Insubordination, Weasley. Insubordination," he drawled. "Now, off the pitch."

            Ginny sucked her teeth and turned in the direction of the lake, looking for another place for her to fly undisrupted. Draco followed her line of vision. He watches as she looked at a group of young Slytherin boys playing Quodpot near the Forbidden Forest. Another group of older, Ravenclaw boys, had their robes off and were dressed in Muggle clothes. Off the shore of the lake Seamus, Dean, and a few other Gryffindor boys were playing a game Draco didn't know.

            Draco sighed and moved forward again. "Hurry, Weasley . . . my patience is trying." He reached into his pocked and drew his wand, sliding it up his sleeve as Ginny turned her back to him.

~~~~~~~

            "Going," she hissed, starting to fly away. "I'm going. It's so sad . . . to see someone so old hide behind a teacher, making a Potion's master do his bidding," she muttered over her shoulder, taking off as fast as her old broom would go. Against her will, the Comet halted and reversed slightly, jerking. The faint sound of Malfoy snickering behind her back made Ginny go red once more, but holding her head high she continued on her way to the boys, ignoring him.

            As she flew, her broom slowed down considerably. It was so old, she was surprised it hadn't already died, but it wasn't the best time for the particular occurrence.

            "Oh, damn," she hissed under her breath. She was nearing the lake, and her broom kept stopping, reversing, and jerking every few seconds, each time worse than before. "Come on, come on," she pleaded softly, "Just work. Please don't stop. Not here, not in front of all these people . . . please," she begged the old toy as it started forward again.

            From the ground closest to the lake, the other boys looked up at her. Seamus Finnigan smiled and waved, "Hey, Gin! All right?"

            "H- . . . hi, Seamus," she yelled back, putting on a smile as her broom continued to slow.

            Behind her, Malfoy's laughter got louder. She must've looked stupid or daft, like she was learning to fly for the first time. Her broom was out of her control, moving slowly, then speeding up, and then stopping.

            "Yeah . . ." she called, unsure of herself, "Laugh it up!" Ginny did her best to retort, her voice shaky.

            He continued to grin at her all the way from the pitch. "Perhaps," he called out, "You should just go on and crash. Then you could sue the Comet company and get enough money to buy yourself a stick and some hay. Then you could make a broom," he called back.

            "Why now?" she whispered to no one but herself, "Why at this very moment?"

            "What's wrong, Gin?" called Seamus. The entire game had come to a stop now as they all watched her erratic movements. "Are you okay? Need some help or something?"

            Ginny grew only more anxious. "I- . . . I don't think that you can help me much from there Seamus."

            Seamus looked to the dark haired boy at his side. "Go get my broom, Todd. Right now, run! Hurry!" then to Ginny once more, "What's happening? What is it?"

            "It's . . . something with the broom. It's too old, and of course it's not working now."

            Ginny looked down. She shook violently in sync with every movement the broom made, completely out of her control. It reversed way back, as though it was returning to the Quidditch pitch, then stopped again, motionless for a good thirty seconds. Malfoy's laughter had subsided, but he still looked on, slightly amused. Ginny looked straight down. If the broom decided to throw her off now, she'd go crashing into a nice pile of large rocks. Nothing she looked forward to.

            "Oy," Malfoy said, slowly flying toward her. "Come on, show a bit of control. Turn back. You're the one riding."

            "Shut up!" barked Ginny, now going a violent shade of scarlet. But silently she hoped he would hurry up and get closer. The ground seemed very far away beneath her. 

            "Look, does the broom have a brain?"

            "No. But you don't either, so bad analogy."

            Malfoy smirked and flew still forward. "And that was a bad joke. Very unclever."

            Ginny said nothing. Seamus and the others were slowly running toward her, and Todd must've been on his way to the seventh year boys' room by now. With all her might she leaned forward, pushing herself to move "Damn you, damn thing. I hate you so much. And when I get down," she hissed as she inched forward, slowly making her way across the lake, Malfoy not far behind her still coming incase she needed his aide, "I'm going to break you into one million tiny . . . little . . . crap . . . shitty-" she cursed.

            "Weasley," came Malfoy's voice as another wind began to pick up, now coming in the opposite direction, "Stop . . . ."

            "No!" she snapped. "I'm getting this damn thing out of the air. Piece of-"

            "I'd listen to me if I were you."

            "Isn't that funny?" Ginny said, realizing what the problem was. "I don't care." The wind was blowing her forward once more, and the actual movement of her broom had stopped. Instead she was moving on the wind, her red curls swirling around her face once more. She hovered above the center of the lake now, and looked down upon the dark, navy blue waters.

            "Damn this thing. Bastard!" she said to herself.

            To her surprise, at her side, hovered Malfoy. "Come on, Weasley. But never say I didn't do you any favors." Had it been any other situation, Ginny definitely would have ignored him. Still, the prospect of crashing to the lake and hitting with enough force to break both her arms wasn't appealing. She could do with sucking up her pride for a few minutes to accept his help.

            "What do you want?" she demanded, still skeptical. It wasn't something Draco Malfoy would do, offer help like that. There must've been some sort of ulterior motive, Ginny was positive. More humiliation, perhaps? A story to share with his group of Slytherin groupies?

            "That . . . _thing _you're sitting on is about to fall out of the air. And I assume you don't want to go tumbling with it. So let's go. Very slow. And if you flip over my broom I'm going to be bloody pissed. And I don't mean drunk."

            "You're kidding," she said incredulously. "This is a trick."

            Malfoy looked at her, his cold gray eyes locking with hers. He gave her a fierce look and said nothing. 

            Ginny remained silent. Blushing madly, she reached out and put her hand on Malfoy's shoulder, steadying herself to swing her leg over the back of his broom and take a seat behind him. "Don't move . . . okay?"

            He held still and rolled his eyes. "Look, the moment you get off of it, that Comet is going to go falling, so don't let go of it until you're completely on mine." Ginny looked down at the water as she moved off her broom, clinging to the wooden shaft. Eyes focused elsewhere, she couldn't see Malfoy's cocky grin.

~~~~~~~

            Harry trudged down the stairs to the Common Room. He had been having them ever since the end of the summer, the two weeks he spent in Diagon Alley, Dursley free. They came every few nights, one horrible dream after the other, each unique, but at the same time, like the one before it. It was usually dark in his dream, black as night, and all he could see were the passing figures of hooded strangers, all the same height; all walking in the same direction, toward him. But as the nightmares went on, the hooded strangers began to speak to him. Tonight's had been the worst yet.

            As usual, he found himself standing in the middle of an empty road that appeared to go on forever. And just as before, he was surrounded by an absolute darkness. Unnerving, unforgiving darkness. He never dared to stray off the road, and to see what was beyond, for fear he would never make it back again.

            After he walked a while, the men would appear, and they would walk on opposites side of him, coming toward him. Their heads were all bowed, and all he could make out of their facial features were their mouths. 

            Usually, each person passed by, whispering one meaningless word. But tonight, each man stopped, placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, and spoke. It was the voice that scared him the most. It was low, and eerie, almost like the snake's eager hiss, each man wishing he could connect with Harry more. _"Give me my boy. My son, my boy. Never again shall my boy be out of my sight. For it was He who sent my boy away."_ Then, he quickly drew a knife and before Harry knew what was happening, the hooded man stabbed him in the stomach. The blade felt white hot, burning his insides, making him scream and writhe in pain.

Then the next man came. Harry clutched onto him, feeling the blood flowing over his fingers that clutched the burning wound and dripping to the ground. The next man hissed: _"Give me my daughter. My daughter, my girl. My girl whom I loved as I hated the darkest hour which claimed her."_

            For the first time, Harry tried to speak with them. "H- . . . help-" he struggled with the words, feeling the tips of his fingers go numb as the man's hand moved from Harry's shoulder to his hand. "What . . . what do you _want?_" Harry cried. His legs gave way and fell to the floor. The man looked down at him, his face expressionless, before walking on and being replaced by the third and last man Harry would meet that night.

            _"Give me my day_," this man whispered to Harry as he lay, dying, on the stone ground._ "Give me the day that I lost, when my glory was taken from me."_

            This very man, bent down at Harry's side. He placed his hand on Harry's stomach where the blood and soaked and stained his robes and was now spilling out onto the ground. "Please," Harry whispered.

            _"Can you give me my day?"_

            "N-no . . . just please."

            _"You must give me my day."_

            The man's voice steadily grew louder until he was shouting at the top of his lungs. The sound of his voice was so loud that Harry's head pounded with each syllable annunciated. The constant thud against the walls of Harry's skull and the burning he felt inside made the Hogwarts student scream until he was hoarse. Finally, the man in Harry's dream bent over and whispered a final sentence.

            _"You can't give me my day."_

            With that, he reached out his bony hand and plunged a silver knife into Harry's abdomen.

Harry was shocked to find that he had barely made a sound in his slumber, once he woke up. Ron had heard him whimper, and he had sat all the way up to tell his mate to shut up. Harry had put his head back on the pillow once more, and he had held still until Ron's steady breathing filled the room. Once he was sure his friend was fast asleep, Harry stood and crept out of the room, and he found himself hurrying down to the Common Room to wait for daybreak.

            Naturally, no one else was down there that early in the morning. The fireplace was dry and cleaned out, and outside the moon let its dim light shine in through the window, creating sinister shadows off the tapestries on the walls, and the armchairs on the floor.

            Harry drew his wand as he carefully crossed the room to sit in his favorite chair. _"Lumos,"_ he whispered, and a small green light made a pathway to the unoccupied chair.

            After struggling not to trip over things, let alone his own two feet, Harry threw himself down into the chair and shoved his wand between the chair and the cushion itself, letting it give the room what little light it could. Eventually his eyes glazed over and closed. Once again, he fell into a deep slumber. Harry stayed there, limp in the armchair, facing the night, until the golden light of the sun came and kissed his face.

~~~~~~~

            As she strolled down the corridor that eventually led to the Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Lisa held her copy of the Daily Prophet close to her nose as she read the cover article. It was entitled: _"Thirty-Six Unarmed Muggles and Muggle-Borns Murdered in a Birmingham Suburb Last Night."_ As she read on, she came to discover that the assailant had once again used the mysterious, untraceable, unknown curse. One Muggle man had seen his attacker, and just before he died, he managed to contact his local authorities. That man, they discovered, was Thomas Brocklehurst, one of the few surviving members of the Brocklehurst clan.

            Lisa was positive that none of the Brocklehurst's were very close with family outside their immediate one. After Abe Brocklehurst's arrest and imprisonment about a slightly more than a decade ago, they spread out around England, hiding from the public and such. The more she thought about it, Lisa was almost positive Mandy didn't know her uncle Thomas. Regardless, she could imagine how the seventh year Ravenclaw was up in arms. The thought of walking into the classroom and seeing Mandy ranting uncontrollably made Lisa walk a bit faster.

            "What were you reading?" came a soft, deep voice at her side that made Lisa jump. She jerked her head round to look at Dean, who had appeared at her side. Apprehensive about the boy seeing the article, she folded it and tried to hold it discreetly behind her back, painfully aware of how deliberate her movements must've been.

            She looked up and shrugged. "Nothing."

            Once again, Dean's smooth, cool gaze seemed to penetrate her thoughts as his eyes focused on her face. She felt herself blush and her heart sped up. She involuntarily shuddered and reluctantly looked away to the classroom they were nearing. 

            He smiled. "Come on, let me see." Curious, he reached his hand out to take it from her.

            Lisa shook her head vigorously. "It's nothing, Dean." She did her best to make her voice firm, but it wavered slightly simply from being in his presence. She thought she was clear, but it was becoming apparent that Dean knew no boundaries and had no self-restraint. Trying to be funny or cute, he reached his arm around her back and placed his hand on her waist. She gave another slight shudder as she held the paper as far away as she could. With his other hand, he reached in front of her and tried to grab it. "Let me see!" he exclaimed playfully.

            "Dean . . ." Lisa whimpered, stretching her arm, "Dean, no. Stop . . . I said stop!" Her voice had steadily grown until it was loud and forceful enough to grab his attention. Dean dropped his hands and took a step back.

            He looked at her, concerned. "What's wrong?"

            "It's . . ." Lisa sighed. For a moment, she wanted to tell him everything on her mind. She wanted to confess her inner most thoughts; somehow for that moment she had the misconception that he would understand. But that would be impossible. He couldn't understand about Mandy and about Draco. He wouldn't understand about her family and all her other problems plaguing her. He couldn't possibly understand. Lisa took a deep breath and sped her gait. "It's nothing."

            As she hurried on to the classroom, she could feel Dean watching her as she walked on. Did he think she was stupid? Had she overreacted? It was only a silly newspaper article. And it didn't say much.

            Quickly, all her thoughts about Dean and everything relating to him vanished as she came to the classroom door. Hearing muffled voices inside, she placed her hand on the brass handle and twisted it, entering hesitantly. 

            Fortunately for her, Mandy was not standing in the center of the room ripping her hair out. Instead she was more off to the side, sitting on her desk with her feet on her chair. She was in mid sentence and didn't even seem to notice Lisa's entrance, which was all the better, since Lisa figured the last person Mandy wanted to talk to at that very moment was her.

            "This is _madness!_" Mandy exclaimed, rubbing her temples. "The goddamn Ministry must _want_ the pure-blood fanatics to take over Britain."

            Lisa swallowed, uncomfortable. She hurried by and held her head low, sliding into a seat at the table in front of Draco's. He was sitting by himself, obviously saving the spot for Pansy, who had yet to arrive. He was staring down at a library book curiously, barely paying attention to Mandy. Lisa turned around in her chair to face him, and tapped her index finger on the desk above his book to catch his attention. He glanced up and gave her a curt nod, acknowledging her presence before turning back to his book. Most Slytherins had dropped this class for their seventh year, so Draco didn't bother challenging Mandy, whom Lisa knew he didn't like.

            Thinking of Mandy once more, she turned her attention back to the girl. She was in a seat next to Harry Potter, who was staring up at her with an intense gaze. Almost annoyed by it, Lisa tried to block his face out of her mind.

            "-And what's worse," Mandy barked, "Is that I'd bet the prats at the Ministry have forgotten about the fact that many of the pure-bloods band together to do stupid things like _this_. Proclaiming their support of You-Know-Who and saving their own skins from being killed once the war _really_ starts."

            Lisa couldn't help but feel a twinge of anger. "Mandy," she piped up, "You haven't forgotten your lineage, have you?"

            Mandy shot Lisa a sharp look. "Why pretend like I'm one of th-. . ." she cut her voice, coming to understand what Lisa meant. Lisa sat, straight-backed and hard-faced, waiting for a response. She loved Mandy, there was no doubt about it, but Lisa found she was particularly hard-headed sometimes. Mandy continued bitterly. "I'm one of _you._" She scowled. "I've been disowned by 'my own kind.'"

            "Don't blame anyone else for what happened to your family," Lisa snapped. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Dean walk in through the door. Not wanting to appear especially angry or out of control, Lisa took a deep breath and lowered her voice. "At least, don't blame anyone here."

            "Why not?" Mandy demanded loudly, clutching the edge of her desk. "My father is rotting away in Azkaban alone."

            Gasping, Lisa flattened her palm on Draco's desk. "Yeah, well, that's life. Don't blame the pure-bloods for your troubles. They- . . ." Lisa halted, then began again. "We aren't responsible for whatever your problems are."

            Mandy fumed. "I'd like to shove life down all their throats and then maybe they'd understand what it's all about."

            "They know what life's about. Their life just doesn't include someone convicted of murder."

            Mandy took a deep breath and pushed up from her place on her desk. She stood in the center of the aisle leading down to the front of the classroom where Lisa sat. Mandy's voice elevated as she turned bright red. "My father is _not_ a criminal. He's no barbarian, and he certainly wasn't responsible for anyone's death."

            "But he _is_ the one in Azkaban, so unless this is helping him get out, I suggest you stop screaming yourself hoarse," Lisa snapped. She turned around in her seat and faced forward, her chest heaving. That conversation had not gone the way she had planned, nor had it gone the way she hoped. But Lisa understood what Mandy had been implying, and she would not stand for it.

            At that very moment, before Mandy could speak again, the classroom door opened once more, and the seventh years' professor entered the room. It was Professor Alastor Moody, old, crippled, and frightening. The classroom became hushed as it always did when he entered the room, and the students watched the withered Auror make his way down to his podium where the taught from. Lisa was still in awe each time she saw him. This class is part of the reason she had made it to her seventh year without a complaint; she was looking forward to the class, Advanced Defense the Dark Arts, and the only class Moody taught at the school.

            Once at his podium, Moody took a swig from his hip-flask and set down his papers in front of him. He eyed the class, which was sitting attentive, waiting for his first words. All Lisa could do was hope he didn't hear their bitter argument from outside the door. Expecting a reprimand, Lisa cringed when Moody opened his mouth. 

            "I couldn't help but hear your conversation," he remarked, wobbling slightly as he settled himself. His magical eye rolled over to Lisa's face while the other focused on Mandy's face. Lisa was shocked when the corners of his mouth turned upward into a grizzly smile. The professor chuckled. It wasn't comforting though. It was raspy and low, like a cough almost, and his magical eye spun madly in its socket. "Interesting," he muttered. Then, louder: "That man, that man . . . ."

            Professor Moody stopped there and turned to the board to write something with the chalk he now clutched in his hand. Everyone else in the classroom opened their notebooks for notes, but Lisa sat still with her heart pounding in her chest. She felt bad for Mandy and turned back to look at her temperamental friend, who was now seething with rage. It was no secret that she hated the class. In fact, she would've dropped it along with the Slytherins had it not been for Lisa, who had convinced her that she would benefit for it in the end.

            It wasn't that Mandy hated Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was that Mandy hated Moody. Because it was common knowledge that Moody was the Auror that captured and put Abraham Brocklehurst in Azkaban for life for killing thirty Muggles single-handedly. That day, before Moody came to get Abe, was the last day Mandy saw her father.

~~~~~~~

            "Did you ever stop to think about the grass?" Padma asked, fingering a blade between her forefinger and thumb. She leaned back, resting in the grass, her café au lait colored ankles crossed and her feet exposed to the early October sun. Although she had not lived there for many years, Padma could faintly remember being there. Yes, there was poverty. And there had been sadness, a lot of sadness, but still, she was happy there. She was happy in her big house, with only her sister for company. She enjoyed the quiet and the sun and the heat. A quick breeze passing by immediately washed away the thoughts and brought her back to Scotland, where she was sitting by the lake with Hermione.

            At her side, Hermione put a tendril of her curly brown hair behind her ear. "Think about the grass," the seventh year Gryffindor repeated.

            "Yes." Padma threw a piece at Hermione's hand beside her. "I mean, you must think about _something_ other than schoolwork."

            Hermione shrugged and smiled slightly. "I suppose I think about the grass . . . upon occasion."

            Padma laughed. The two of them were sitting by the lake, enjoying the rest of their afternoon. With the next day being Friday and all their work complete, they were taking a moment off of their hectic lives to be casual. It was relaxing to spend time outdoors, and it gave the two girls time to catch up with one another. After all, since the beginning of the school year, both had been focused on their schooling and hadn't had much time to socialize. 

            "Well, if it's not grass," Padma pushed herself to sit upright, "Then what is it?"

            Hermione shrugged again and picked a few more pieces of grass from the ground. Twirling it between her two, pale white fingers, she stared over Padma's head and beyond, almost completely lost in thought. Padma watched intently, waiting for Hermione's answer.

            "Things," Hermione replied simply. "All different sorts."

            Although she was still curious, Padma did her best to laugh. "Be vague then. See if I care."

            "I bet you do."

            Padma bit her lip. Then: "What are you thinking?"

            There was silence. Hermione drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her thin legs. After a few thoughtful minutes, she blinked and stared right down at her Ravenclaw friend. "I'm not sure. I'm mostly thinking how I hate that question."

            "Why do you hate that question?"

            "I hate it," Hermione said matter-of-factly, "because it's intrusive. It's the type of question that . . ." she trailed off thoughtfully. "That if I was thinking about something not too private to share, I'd say it on my own schedule. But when others ask, they're prying."

            Padma sat all the way up and fixed the waist of her pants, which had bunched up when she had laid herself on the ground. "Why is being curious about your mate's life prying?"

            Hermione gave a forced laugh, although her cheeks went from porcelain white to bright pink. Padma watched her play with the cuff of her robes that were folded at her side. When she spoke again, her voice was low, almost a whisper. "Why do you ask so many questions?"

            Shrugging and rolling over to lie on her stomach, it was now Padma's turn to shrug. "I want to know a lot. But you can't know anything if you don't ask. So in the end," she explained, "you'll have to guess. And guessing is fine; guessing is great." She got louder and gave a nod. "But guessing comes second to knowing. Get what I mean?"

            "Yeah," Hermione said simply. 

            Padma continued. "I mean . . . I wouldn't have to ask questions if could read minds and such. Like, if only I could get into that corner of your head," she pointed at Hermione's forehead curiously, very serious about what she was saying, "where things finally match and meet the standards that you set."

            She stopped talking and looked at Hermione, who now was staring at the ground, lost in her own thoughts. Aware Hermione was uncomfortable, Padma easily changed topics.

            "But," Padma said louder, "if you want to talk about trivial stuff, I can do that. For instance," she gestured around her. "the grass. Interesting stuff, the grass."

            Hermione focused down on the ground. "Padma?" she asked softly, "I'm not usually very active in the rumor mill. Hell, I usually stay clear of it. But, I've heard a lot of stupid stuff about Ron and some stuff about Harry, and I'd just hate to have bad things being said about my friends-"

            Padma, although she was no actress, managed to look shocked. "But people can say things about me?"

            Hermione smiled and gave her a playful shove, her mood elevated again. "You know what I meant!"

            "Well-" she put on a serious face, "There's nothing new being said about Ron. You know, the typical, 'who is he dating this week' sort of thing. But . . . as for Harry, Hannah Abbott told me that she saw him with Mandy out on the pitch a few days ago. Said they were snogging."

            Picking clovers casually from the ground, Hermione licked her lips and spoke. "She saw him on the pitch?" She held the dainty plants in her hands tightly, making sure they were all properly in line, all even in height, and all with their petals facing up to her face. Slowly she curled them around in her hand, and the five she held formed a neat circle, the fifteen leaves casting shadows on her small fingers. Interested, Padma watched before continuing with her mediocre story.

            "Yep. And she saw them once after up near Trelawney's classroom two days ago. But that's not really bad, is it? I mean, honestly, if it was _really_ bad, you surely would've heard it. What did you hear that's been bothering you?"

            "What . . . what did I hear?" Hermione jabbed her forefinger into her chest; she dropped her clovers all to the ground, and they spread out in disarray, with no point of symmetry and no relationship to each other. The Gryffindor took a deep breath and wrinkled her nose, "Stupid things like you just said. The sorts of things I haven't the time for. I forget what I was worrying about, anyway."

            Padma jabbed her thumb away from them and toward the pitch. "Speak of the devil," she muttered, pushing up off the ground. Approaching her and Hermione were Ron and Harry, both just finished with Quidditch practice. Each donned his Quidditch robes and were covered in dirt and grass stains, and sweat made light reflect off their foreheads. 

            "For the record," Padma shouted as they walked, "One of you smells really bad." She reached back and brushed the dirt of the seat of her pants. In the corner of her eye, she could see Hermione standing next to her, arms crossed over her school uniform. Padma took the sleeve of her sweater and brought it to her mouth to chew on.

            Ron lifted his arm and pretended to sniff his armpit. "It isn't me. Must be him."

            Hermione jabbed her in the ribs with her index finger. "Hello Ron, hello Harry."

            Padma smiled at Hermione. The corners of Hermione's mouth were turned up, and she walked forward to meet her housemates. Ron reached out and put a hand on her arm. "I thought you both were coming over to watch us practice! I swear, Harry had us working harder than ever today . . . ." Ron gave his silent friend a punch in the arm.

            Harry smiled back, but seemed lost in thought, more reserved than usual. Hermione and Padma both turned their focus toward him. "What's special about today?"

            "I haven't a clue." Ron shrugged. "But whatever it was, our boy here had all of us down on the ground doing push ups and running laps." He made a muscle. "After all. Must get that upper body strength so when Malfoy loses and tries to start a fight, it'll be easier knocking him down, and I'll have more endurance, so I can mess with him longer."

            Smiling, Padma reached out and squeezed his arm. "I 'unno. Seems a bit flabby to me."

            "It would to the untrained . . . hand."

            Padma turned her attention back to Harry. "What's wrong mate?"

            Ron answered for him. He put a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder, which Harry pulled away from, giving the red-head a stern glare. As he rolled his eyes, Ron crossed his arms and moved closer to Hermione and Padma, who leaned in close to hear. "Harry had a dream last night," he said.

            Padma felt Hermione flinch at her side. "A dream?" she asked. Immediately, she turned to face Harry. "What was it about?"

            "It was nothing," Harry muttered.

            "Like hell it was nothing!" Ron exclaimed. "You woke up nearly in tears."

            Harry shot Ron a death glare. "I did not." Then, his voice quieter and gentler, he took a step back from their foursome. "I'm going to hit the showers."

            Hermione reached out and touched his arm. "I'm walking with you." She looped her arm through his and slowly, the two made their way toward the locker rooms, leaving Ron and Padma to watch as they left. 

            Padma looked up at Ron, confused. "What's going on? Have I missed something?"

            Ron, who had gone from red to sheer white, shook his head. "I haven't the slightest," he grunted. Then: "I'm going to get changed." Without another word, he walked away toward the castle, leaving Padma alone, quite convinced that all Gryffindors constantly had their knickers in a twist.

~~~~~~~

            Ginny smiled to herself as she and Julia walked down Hogsmeade's main road. The night was clear and beautiful, the storm having passed. It reminded Ginny of crushed velvet, encrusted with beautiful sparkling diamonds. It was cool outside, a perfect autumn night. First Hogsmeade trip of the year, and it seemed as though no student dared to miss it.

            Still smiling, Ginny was perfectly content to walk and listen to one of her best friends talk her ear off. It was the trivial, mundane sort of things that made her day. "Guess what?" Julia asked loudly as they passed the owl post.

            "What?"

            "I got a date."

            Ginny giggled and poked her in the side. "No. With who?"

            "A one Mr. Ernie Macmillan, captain and star Seeker on the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team. High social status among Hogwarts students. Seventh year _man_ who managed to come in fifth in his year. Winner-"

            "Oh, Merlin. Shut up, I've got the picture," she laughed. Julia winked at her, digging around in her bag for something. Ginny stared straight ahead. "So, what are you two doing?"

            Julia shrugged. "Tomorrow we're going to dinner. Since I have no good new clothes, you and I must go to _Sophie's en Cuir_ and get me some new dress robes. The short kind. With the lace and the tie and all that good stuff."

            "Really," Ginny whispered, growing slightly embarrassed. Of course they weren't going into the store for her, but she had never been. _Sophie's en Cuir_ was a relatively new store (opened her fourth year) in Hogsmeade that was also open in London. It was far too expensive for Ginny to think of shopping in. Once, when she had been in one of her occasional spats with Rebecca, another roommate, the girl had ended the argument with announcing that she was going shopping without her, because the store was far too cool for Ginny. Stupid, yes, but they had been fourteen. Not that there was no truth behind the statement. Feeling her good mood drop, she sighed and crossed her arms.

            Julia had been talking again. The two sixth years turned off the main road and down the straight path that led to the boutique. "You know, I never saw what was so sexy about Ernie," Julia continued.

            "I still don't," interrupted Ginny. "Excuse me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it last year when he beat your last Ravenclaw boyfriend in Quidditch? What is it you called him . . . 'a deranged monkey wannabe who couldn't fly for shit'? And, again, correct me if I'm mistaken, you said he looked like a rat with overly large arms and twigs for legs?"

            She blushed deep red and drew her compact. With one had she ran her fingers through her short brown hair. Sending Ginny a dirty look, she quickly replied, "Yes, well," she said hastily, "That was last year, wasn't it? And I've grown and matured since last year."

            Ginny nodded and looked away. Julia would be back to normal in a moment and she could go back to feeling somewhat bad for herself.

            They continued to walk. "Yes well," Julia finally said, "At least I _try_ with guys."

            Ginny stopped. "What?"

            "You don't date. You don't do anything."

            Feeling herself go red, she looked away. "I don't want to waste my time with a thousand and one stupid teenagers. I'm looking for the right one. I need not waste my time with these prats."

            Almost hurt by Ginny's earlier comments, Julia looked away and crossed her arms over her chest. Voice low, she spoke: "Yes, and so am I. But at least I look. You just set your mind on one person-"

            Ginny's face was hot. Unsure of what to do, she whispered, "I don't fancy him anymore." There wasn't much else she could say. There was truth in Julia's words.

            Julia rambled on though. "And when that one person says that your feelings from him are not reciprocated, you fall back on your safety net. You can cuddle up with Colin and you know he'll always be there, and you know he'll always want you," she became louder, turning to face Ginny head on. "And you know that he's attracted to you, because, bloody hell, if he wasn't you two would've never dated. So you spend your days sitting in Colin's lap and having him worship you, and when _I_ have fun because I at least try to put myself out there, you have the nerve to criticize me."

            "Bloody hell, Julia! I'm sorry! I take it back, okay?"

            There was an awkward silence. Although Ginny couldn't imagine what Julia was thinking, she was more preoccupied with her own swirling thoughts. Julia struck a nerve. Was Colin really a safety net to her? They were just friends, there was no longer any attraction, and their breakup had been mutual. But now, with the recent growing number of attacks and the stress of her own life as she approached her final year at school, Ginny was spending more time than ever with Colin. They were close friends, but that was it. There was no changing it.

            Ginny slowed and looked to her left. They were passing _Word_, the only bookstore in Hogsmeade. It was small and cramped inside, but despite the lack of space, it seemed to have every book ever written hidden someplace. Solon, the owner, was never to be seen, always off organizing more books or something else of that nature. 

            One could barely see in through the old door. The thick wood and gray window-pane barely let any light in. Ginny and Julia continued to walk. But Ginny stopped abruptly, looking through the window. Feeling her stomach drop, she tapped Julia's shoulder. "I just need to get something from inside," she muttered, "I'll talk to you in a minute."

            Julia raised one eyebrow, giving Ginny the strangest look she could muster. But instead of questioning, she simply said: "Fine," and walked on to the clothing shop alone.

            Ginny turned back and walked slowly to the entrance of the bookstore. Her hand was nearly shaking as she reached out to the brass knob. Then, taking a deep breath, she threw the door open and walked in, holding her head high. She wouldn't allow herself to be intimidated. No, better than that, she _couldn't_ be intimidated. She was Virginia, a beautiful, vibrant, luscious sixteen-year-old seductress who was too brilliant to get nervous when approaching someone. 

Instead when she walked into the door and saw her reflection in an old, full-length mirror opposing the entrance, she faltered. Because all the positive attributes she tried to give to herself dissipated into nothing. She was Ginny, the awkward adolescent too short for her own good with too much hair uncontrollable hair, too many freckles, who did not get straight As, nor did she do anything else impressive. She reminded herself of a twig, flat and skinny and boring. With a tired sigh, she turned and walked further in. 

There were rows upon rows of bookshelves. They were all neatly arranged on their respective rows; most had not been touched in years and had collected a fair amount of dust and cobwebs on and around them.

            Ginny squeezed through a tight aisle, passing a pair of fifth year Slytherin girls. Her destination was just beyond them. Clearing her throat, Ginny looked at Draco Malfoy, who was whispering softly in Blaise Zabini's ear. Her lips were curled into a horrible smile and she twisted her long blond hair around her finger as she spoke. Her cold eyes landed on Ginny, and the smirk worsened into a grin of absolute satisfaction. Ginny felt herself blush. Still, trying to remember that spectacular Ginny she envisioned herself as just minutes before, she held her head high once again and pretended not to notice her. Ginny turned and yanked a thin book out from the shelf behind her and started to read 'Adolescent Wizard hood: Charms You'll Most Certainly Need.' 

            As she "read," Ginny's mind began to wander. What was she doing in there? A stupid move on her part, yes. But she was here now, she most certainly couldn't turn away and run, could she? What was the point? All because she had to ask one silly question?

            That one silly question meant a lot to her, though. This would explain the most crucial point: why? Why had everything that had been so well established changed? Perhaps it was her suspicious nature. When growing up in a family with six brothers, one had to be slightly suspicious. That friendly gesture at the kitchen table, perhaps an offering of someone else's snack, could be sinister. Why would Malfoy help Ginny, when it had always been clear that he despised her? Perhaps it wasn't personal. Maybe it was simply Malfoy had grown up knowing he was to hate all Muggle Borns, Half and Half's, as well as Pure Blood Muggle lovers. Still, none of this could be answered until she asked. 

            "Ha!" Blaise let out a loud laugh. She still looked forward in Ginny's direction intently, as though she had tons to say to her. But Draco pulled away abruptly, a small smile on his face. Blaise nodded and smirked, looking pleased. Ginny's stomach dropped. What if he told her about what happened on the brooms? Of course it was nothing big, but the way he could twist it, turn it into lies, make her seem tragically helpless and desperate. Ginny had always known Lavender Brown to be a gossip. But if Lavender was a gossip, Blaise was a Rita Skeeter incarnate. The horrible untruths floating around about Ginny would be enough to ruin the rest of her term.

            Blaise looked up at Draco, whispered something back, and then crossed her arms over her chest. Confidently she gave him a quick kiss on the lips, turned on her heel and walked away, passing Ginny. Ginny turned her head to watch the Slytherin seventh year go. Ginny cleared her throat and looked back down at her book. She shoved it back into the shelf and drew out another. 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.' Perfect. 

            Blushing furiously as she thought about what to say, she discreetly glanced at Draco. Looking bored he was looking down the row of books he stood in front of. His pale hands ran along the binding of each, touching all the letters. Ginny swallowed and shoved 'Fantastic Beasts' back into the shelf. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him. The Slytherin girls behind her that had been reading silently had disappeared. From a few rows over she was nearly sure she could hear the quiet sound of other voices. One less thing to worry about for her; the idea of being alone in there while she tried to confront Draco Malfoy was enough to make her wet herself.

            "Malfoy," she said, but it came out as a choked whisper. He didn't hear her, so again she said: "Malfoy," this time louder and more forceful. Malfoy stopped moving his hand and glanced over his shoulder. 

            "What is it?"

            She sighed. He hadn't called her Weasel in his first sentence. Not a bad start. "I . . . needed to ask you something," she replied cautiously. "All right?"

            "Fine, Weasley." He turned his head back to the row of books and started looking again, slowly walking as he did. She stepped to the aisle he was in, perpendicular to her own. It went straight to the front of the shop, where a large class window was with '_Word_' painted on with gold letters. Outside someone was lighting the streetlights as the sun set. Golden yellow and orange light streamed down onto the path where the number of students was thinning. Sure, curfew wasn't for a while, but many people were heading back for supper, and others were settling down in Three Broomsticks or elsewhere to eat their own dinner. Malfoy cleared his throat. "Well?"

            She bit her lip and began slowly, choosing her words thoughtfully, "You helped me," she stated unsurely.

            "Wow. Clever one you are," Draco muttered. "Yes, I did. Is that all?"

            "You helped me . . . but you don't like me. Or any of my brothers. None of my family. And then . . . you didn't tell anyone. At least, not that I know of. Of course, you could have and that would've screwed me over, but instead-"

            Malfoy stopped to face her. His cold stare settled on her face for the first time. "I'm not a patient person. Are you going to ask the bloody question or not?"

            She sniffed. "Why? Why did you do it and then . . . not do all that other stuff?" she paused, "Unless of course you have."

            "I don't know," Malfoy sighed, turning back to the books. He settled upon one and drew it out of the bookcase, flipping it open a few pages and beginning to read. Ginny waited for him to say more, surely he knew that answer wouldn't suffice. But being the person he was, self-assured and confident, he must have figured that whatever he said would please Ginny enough to make her leave him be. Growing slightly irritated, not so intimidated anymore, she took a step toward him.

            "And?"

            He didn't look up. "And what?"

            "That can't possibly be enough."

            "Well, you'll have to accept it. 'Cause that's really all I have to say."

            "Malf-"

            Malfoy glanced up, narrowing his eyes. "What is it with you? What is it that makes _you _care so damn much? Leave it be."

            "Because," she sighed, "It's been bothering me. And finally, today, when I forgot about it, I saw you and felt like asking. Everyone always has a reason," she continued, "Any prat off the street knows that. And for me to successfully leave you alone, I have to know yours."

            "Well, you won't 'know my reason,' I suppose." Ginny gave Draco a hard stare. He relaxed slightly, leaning against the shelf and staring at her. Finally, he shrugged and said, "I guess that I thought it would be a good idea. If the two Gryffindor grunt boys-"

            "Who?"

"Thomas-the-Mudblood and his Half-Breed-Half-Wit Partner saw me let you fall and crash and break both your arms they would fly up to me, presumably to duff me up. And as much as I'd like to witness them _try_ I was in no mood to talk to them as I am not to talk to you. Now, please fuck off so I can read my book," he snapped, turning his back to her.

            Ginny stood there, half stunned that he said anything to her at all and half frustrated because he got to end their conversation on his terms; and that was with a very endearing phrase picked just for her. Torn, she stood there for a moment. 

            Still dissatisfied, Ginny turned her back to him and stalked off, just as confused as she was before.

~~~~~~~

            "Have you got it? Your footing I mean. If you fall, I fall."

            "Yes, Ron. I'm good."

            "Are you sure?"

            "I said I was good."

            "Fine, I just want to make sure," he paused, then: "Hey. Maybe I should go backwards."

            "God damn it, Ron Weasley! I won't fall!"

            Parvati and Ron stood at the base of the girls' staircase. Between them was Lavender. At any other given time she would gladly have been part of this slight quarrel, had she not been lying on the ground, drunk and asleep. He and his fellow seventh years had been enjoying Mandy's party in Three Broomsticks since the beginning of the night. As soon as the teachers left most of the students took their place at the bar, ordering various drinks.

            Ron snorted as he looked down at Lavender. "You know, for such a small person, she's no lightweight," he remarked. "Did you see her?"

            "I was with her, you prat," Parvati snapped irritably, bending her knees so that she could lift Lavender's feet. "Ready?"

            "I am. Still, are you absolutely positive you want to be in the front?"

            Parvati ignored him, wrapping her hands around her friend's pale ankles. Ron slid his hands under her shoulders. "Ready?"

            "Yes," said Parvati. "On the count of three: one, two, three."

            They went up at the same time. Together, the two lifted her listless body up. For a moment they steadied themselves; Parvati wobbled slightly before carefully taking her first step backwards onto the second stair. Her high heels hit the back of the next, and she nearly tripped. Ron watched intently, ready to pull Lavender up toward him if Parvati fell.

            Finally, they started to move, their steps in sync, their movements coordinated. Ron and Parvati carried Lavender up about six steps before the staircase began to curve around. Ron glanced upward to the first door. It read 'Third Year Girls' in fancy scrawl, hand written.

            "Since I forgot to ask," Ron began, "Where is your room?"

            "Third up," Parvati grunted, pulling Lavender up more. She said nothing else, clearly focused on the task at hand, letting Ron's thoughts wander elsewhere. 

            That entire night he hadn't seen Harry or Hermione. Of course, Harry didn't attend Mandy's party (it was common knowledge that Harry was no partier), and although Hermione had been invited, she hardly seemed interested in the party either. So the two of them probably had gone off and done something together.

            At that, his heart sank. Although he loved attending parties and being wanted and liked, he would have much rather done something with his best friends than with a bunch of drippy third and fourth years, and wild fifth and sixth years. 

            "Are you sure it's okay for me to come up here?" Ron asked anxiously.

            Parvati rolled her eyes. "Of course. It's not like we're having a sleep over or something, stupid."

            "Did you see Hermione this afternoon?"

            She shrugged. "Erm . . . on my way to the Three Broomsticks I saw her walking with Harry around the lake. I asked Hermione where she was going, and she said back to her room. So I guess that's it."

            "Oh. Where did Harry go?"

            "I don't know, Ron."

            He looked down at the floor. "Well-"

            "Gracious, would you stop talking?"

            They continued the walk in silence. For the past few days there had been something wrong with both Hermione and Harry, but he wasn't sure of the problem.

            Ron looked up. As they turned again the spiral staircase came to a landing that led to a door. Seventh Year Girls' Room. "Okay," Parvati sighed. "I'm going to put her down and open the door. You can get her in, right?"

            "Sure."

            Parvati sat down her feet. Lavender slumped in Ron's arm, her head rolling from one side forward. A small, content smile was on her face, unaware that two of her classmates would have to carry her all the way to her bed. As carefully as he could, Ron freed one arm and moved it down, under her kneed. He pushed forward, picking her up in his arms. Her head slid back, her long locks of blond hair hanging down and brushing his side.

            He walked in, carrying her. Directly across from the door lay Hermione, on her bed. She was sleep, fully clothed on top of her blankets. It looked as though she had come up and sat down and subsequently fallen asleep. Ron froze in the doorframe, looking at her, before Parvati cleared her throat. "Here, Ron."

            He carried Lavender over to her bed. Gently he set her down. Parvati slid off her shoes and pulled the blankets up to Lavender's neck. One limp arm fell off the mattress.

            "Thanks," Parvati sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked up at Ron curiously. "What were you doing?"

            "What?"

            She smirked. "In the door. You looked like you might pass out yourself."

            He almost blushed. "Did not. I was thinking about something."

            Parvati raised her eyebrows and shook her head slowly. "Well, thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go get washed up before bed."

            "Right," Ron moved toward the door after Parvati. He looked back at Hermione who was beginning to stir. Very little light came into the room from outside. The moon managed to part the clouds and let light shine in. He held his breath, hoping to creep out before she woke up. By the time he pried his eyes off her, Parvati had already disappeared out the door. He could hear her footsteps going up presumably toward the bathroom.

            Hermione sighed happily behind him. "Mmmm . . . Ron?"

            He swallowed and blushed, turning to face her. "Hey, Hermione."

            She pushed up from the bed, stretching. Her eyes were still half shut. Her curly hair was strewn about. Tensing up slightly, Ron admired the way she looked. Maybe he was being stupid or perhaps it was far too late for him to be around girls. Whatever the case was, Ron's stomach dropped. In the dim light, she looked pretty to him. Her brown eyes stood out against her light, delicate looking skin.

            She laughed and sighed, leaning back, far too content to be remotely irritated by his presence in the girls' area of the Tower. "What are you doing up here?" she whispered, turning on her side and closing her eyes again. 

            "Parvati needed my help for a moment."

            Hermione's eyes fluttered shut. "I didn't see much of you today . . . ."

            "You aren't even changed. You're going to bed for the night?" he asked quietly, walking closer.

            "I suppose I am," she laughed.

            Ron went to her bedside. "What did you end up doing?" he asked, trying to make conversation. Ron waited silently.

            No response came. Hermione lay, sleeping again, on top of the blankets. She was curled up, her knees drawn up and her hands folded under the side of her face. He looked around. Lavender was still sleep and Parvati was probably now arriving at the bathroom. Ron swallowed. Then, as gently as he could, he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. "Good night, Hermione," was all he whispered.

            After a few more moments, Ron jerked back. He pulled away and left.

~~~~~~~

**Author's Note: **Alright, huge thanks to my beta readers who are by far the most awesome on the face of this planet. Huge glomps go out to Wolf_Of_Solitude, The Unicorn Whisperer, JessicaCMalfoy, Elia Sheldon, and Lily. Like I said, they're fantastic, and deserve major schnoogles. More tankies go out to those who reviewed last chapter, although I know I already said that. You all really do help keep me going, and I love you more for it. Cookies can be found on my livejournal, under the username "raymarie". Much loff for you all! And a special thanks to Jaxx, who is the shweetest thing who ever lived.

**Extended Disclaimer:** There are a few quotes in this chapter. Here they are and their respective source, but if you want more detail, simply Private Message/E-Mail me and I'd be glad to give it to you.

"Nothing's ever for sure, [John]. It's the only sure thing I know." –A Beautiful Mind, property of Universal Pictures, Dreamworks Pictures, and Imagine Entertainment.

"If only I could get into that corner of your head where things finally match and meet the standards that you set." –Vanessa Carlton, 'Unsung'. It's the property of Ms. Carlton and her respective record company.

"I'd like to shove life down all their throats and then maybe they'd understand what it's all about." –Anonymous, 'Go Ask Alice.'

Thanks for reading! Please review and tell me what you thought!


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